


Grounding Rod

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: He needs to come back to himself.





	

Go deep enough and you lose yourself. That’s what he was taught, and that’s the truth of it. Shielding yourself so your subject can’t read you, so there’s no transference, means hollowing yourself out to just a question and a threat. It’s murdering yourself for a brief while, all for the cause. 

It’s exhausting. 

Phasma can always tell when he’s been breaking someone. He stares blankly up, feeling like there’s bits of him just missing. Like he’s only half here, in a body that touches the edge of the couch, but fails to send all the lines of signal to his brain. He’s aware he should greet her with affection, but the emotion isn’t there. 

He’s half-dead. 

He’s dangerous. 

He could kill her right now and feel nothing for hours. Days, maybe. A lifetime. End her and walk away like she’s a holo he’s lost interest in. 

She speaks soothingly, walks slowly, touches gently. He’s both enraged and dispassionate, and freezes between the two. He can’t work out how to respond, so he does nothing. 

Fingers in his hair, his face in her bosom. 

He imagines sabering her brains out, just to feel _something_. Just to know he can. 

He can’t get it up, not tonight. She knows when she straddles him, and he fights the urge to scream. 

“Let it out. Let it out, my love. I’m here. You’re safe. Let it out.”

Her voice provokes only negative emotion: Disgust. Fury. Terror. All these things he’s bottled down inside. They explode out in a scream that tells her she’s wrong, so wrong, so wrong… Nails in his thighs, an explosion of pent up aggression. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

More words, and she holds him as he cries himself cold. 

In the morning, it will be fine. In the morning he will feel again. In the morning. 

But until then, he cries, and she understands. It’s enough to get through.


End file.
